


fly me higher

by nonbinarywithaknife (littleboxes)



Series: me sobbing about critical role [116]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Critmas Exchange, F/M, Flowers, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Angst, Melancholy, Mind Control, soft, yasha is a #BI-barian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21878308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxes/pseuds/nonbinarywithaknife
Summary: obann can control yasha's mind, but he cannot control her dreams.(or: a reprieve)
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Yasha
Series: me sobbing about critical role [116]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1266866
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30
Collections: Critmas Exchange 2019





	fly me higher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Capitola](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capitola/gifts).



> title from the crane wives, icarus

Obann’s voice is in her head. Obann’s voice has always been in her head. He is her friend. He speaks to her always. Guides her. She cares for him. Protects him, in return. He guides her away from the crackle of lightning on the edges of her mind and towards the light of their angel. She is so grateful to him. 

They stop to rest while they’re in the swamp. He’s frustrated, she knows. Someone is tracking them. If she were stronger, they could keep going. the Hand has no need for rest, for food. obann is hardier than her, his devilish nature sustains him. But Yasha is- not quite mortal. But mortal enough. They set up camp and he tells her to sleep. She does. He does not tell her to dream. But she does.

Before Yasha drifts away completely, she hears the groan of thunder in the distance. 

  
  
  


Yasha has just finished walking the perimeter of the meadow the carnival has chosen to set up in when Molly rocks up, tail swishing with excitement, and she knows her patrol is officially over. (Not that she minds.)

"Yasha, my darling! You'll never guess what I've found, its positively _marvelous_! you simply _must_ come and see."

Yasha raises an eyebrow and Molly huffs.

"Did you find someone to give you drugs?" she asks, and he laughs. 

When Molly laughs, he does it with his whole body. His chest shakes, his tail flicks, and his mouth opens wide enough for his fangs to reflect the daylight. 

Not like Yasha. When Yasha laughs, it’s small. Quiet and soft. Barely noticeable. 

(Before she’d met Molly, it had been so long since she’d laughed. He’d coaxed them out of her, laughs. With wry jokes and sideways glances, checking to see if he’d succeeded. Checking to make sure it was okay. It was, of course. She’s never told him this. He knows anyway, of course.) 

When Yasha laughs it’s small. Quiet. But sincere.

"Not yet, but don’t worry, there’s always time! We’ve only just arrived in town, after all. No, what I've found is actually a little out of the way- but no, no, I don't want to spoil it. You'll just have to come with me to see it for yourself."

She can’t help but be intrigued. If there’s one thing Molly and the carnival have taught her how to do, it's find delight in trying new things.

Molly sees the moment she gives in, and smiles.

He leads her into and then out of town, and soon enough she’s completely lost. Molly, however looks completely unconcerned, and the flat fields they're passing through remind her of home, in a way. Make her think of Zuala, of nights spent lying on cracked ground looking at stars.

After maybe ten more minutes of walking, they crest a hill, and Yasha finds herself breathless.

Below them is a _massive_ expanse of flowers. It stretches on for miles and miles- all the way to the sunset. Molly is grinning at her and she doesn’t try to stop the smile from stretching across her face.

"Molly- its _beautiful_ ," she says. "How did you find this place?"

They start walking down the hill, and Molly shrugs.

"I was chatting in the tavern and apparently it's the most interesting part of town- and I know you love flowers."

Yasha pauses in her walking to look at him. He hasn’t noticed she’s stopped yet, and she takes the moment to savor the sight. The way he walks, his eyes moving back and forth and back and forth to take everything in. The soft jangling of his horn ornaments. Her chest feels warm.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Molly tugs at her arm.

"I'm told that the best part of flower fields is lying in them and looking at the clouds," he says, tilting his head and smirking slightly, “Would you like to try it with me?”

Yasha nods, only blushing a little bit, and Molly flips down.

Molly has always been a cuddler, and this time is no different. His horns press into her shoulder, and his tail wraps around her waist. She can feel the heat that radiates from him already- it would be uncomfortable, if they were anywhere else. Not that she would mind. 

She finds herself seeking out his hand, and holding it tightly. He squeezes back. The sunset is just beginning to paint the sky with color. 

“That’s what you remind me of, you know,” she says, her voice soft. She doesn’t want to shatter the moment. 

“What?” Molly replies, and she realizes that he sounds almost- sleepy. Her eyes prickle with the knowledge that he would trust her to keep him safe, but continues.

“The sunset… and your coat. The colors, they are- they remind me of each other.”

Molly wiggles out of her arms so he can look her in the eyes. 

“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” he says, and then leans forward to kiss her.

She holds him like that for another second, and then he wiggles back underneath her arm somehow even closer than before. 

They stay there all night, warm and content in the flowers. 

Yasha wakes up. The dream is already fading. She tries to keep it, to hold it close, but the memory falls through her fingers like sand, and her clinging only makes it go faster. Wakefulness washes it away. Obann is looking at her expectantly. They are close to the tree. They are still being tracked. They need to go.

But for a second, when she looks at Obann, she sees purple instead of red. A peacock’s feather curling across his cheek. He is looking at her with an aching softness.

She blinks. Obann is glaring impatiently. It is gone.

They begin walking. She hears the rumble of the Hand as it catches up. A tear rolls down her cheek, and she does not know why. 


End file.
